


Under My Skin

by Sulwen



Category: Adam Lambert (Musician), Glam Rock RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-03
Updated: 2011-01-03
Packaged: 2017-10-14 09:15:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/147724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sulwen/pseuds/Sulwen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for a prompt: Adam sees scratch and bite marks on Tommy one night and wants to make some marks of his own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Under My Skin

Tommy groans. _"Fuck,_ how am I still hungover?" he asks, not really talking to Adam, more just addressing the universe in general.

It gets Adam's attention anyway. It's weird. There are a lot of people on this tour, and almost all of them are louder than Tommy...but his voice seems to cut through the others, especially lately, and Adam hardly misses a word. And ok, yeah, he knows exactly what's going on there, because he's fallen a little bit in love more times than he really cares to remember.

"Oh shit, that sucks! Last night was maybe a little _too_ crazy..." Adam replies, glancing up as he settles into his furred-and-fringed jacket. Tommy is just pulling on his costume shirt, and Adam only gets a glimpse of bare skin before it's hidden under layers of black and red, pale and perfect and...wait. Adam narrows his eyes and wonders if he saw that right: light red parallel lines drawn over the curve of Tommy's shoulder blades. Scratch marks - couldn't be anything else. Adam's head supplies him with the rest of the picture, fingers and hands, nails digging almost painfully into sensitive skin...and then he has to force himself to stop thinking, because there's that whole concert thing he has to do now, and that image really isn't conducive to remembering things like lyrics and choreography.

Tommy turns around and squinches up his face, which is pretty much the most adorable thing Adam's ever seen. He kind of stumbles across the room and collapses against Adam's chest, groaning again. "Do we _have_ to do a show tonight? Why can't I go back to that nice hotel and sleep instead?"

Adam puts his arms around Tommy and lets his head fall forward. He's halfway through a reply which is flirting dangerously close to things better left unsaid ("because I'd miss you too much") when he notices something else different about Tommy, something that's even more distracting than the scratches on his back. Tommy's resting his head against Adam, and the angle bares his neck to Adam's eyes. And there, at the junction of neck and shoulder, is a row of light bruises, mottled in a very specific way, the kind of way skin only looks when there's been an overzealous mouth sucking at it. That means someone's been biting, sucking, _tasting_ Tommy. Adam has no idea who it could have been, only that it absolutely definitely wasn't him. And that? That fucking _sucks._ No pun intended.

He chokes on his words a little, but Tommy really must be out of it, because he doesn't seem to notice. Adam shakes himself and does his best to put it out of his mind. Show. Singing. Career. That whole lifelong dream come true thing. Right.

He stumbles offstage one hour, two lyric flubs, and a dropped cane later, a mess of distraction and frustration and an absolutely _ridiculous_ amount of jealousy. He gets back to the dressing room and shuts the door behind him, knows he only has a few breaths before Tommy follows him back to change into street clothes again. It's not nearly long enough to chase the streak of madness out of his head.

Adam's _right there_ when Tommy opens the door, and it's gratifying that Tommy doesn't jump or pull away when he realizes that Adam's just standing there waiting for him like a stalker or something. Instead, he just takes a long swig from his cup - Tommy's always believed in that "hair of the dog" thing, despite how much Adam's tried to convince him otherwise - and gives Adam a shrug.

"It's ok, man. We all have off nights. You were still fuckin' awesome," Tommy says, squeezing his way into the room and shutting the door behind him.

Adam shakes his head. "All your fault."

And ok, _now_ Tommy's paying attention. "What? Why? I didn't do anything wrong, did I?" he asks, suddenly sounding unsure.

Fuck. Adam will never understand how he gets himself in these situations. Might as well just run with it now. His eyes drift down to where he can see the hickeys on Tommy's neck peeking out again, just exactly how they've been taunting him all night long. "I dunno. Was it good?" he asks, and he can't quite keep the jealous tone out of his voice.

Tommy looks at him blankly for a second. Then he claps his hand to his neck, covering the marks, and a guilty looks comes over his face.

There's a minute where nothing happens, nothing but the two of them staring at each other while a whole lot of complicated shit spins around in Adam's head and Tommy continues to look like Adam's caught him in the act rather than after the fact.

Finally, Adam grabs Tommy's cup out of his hand, drains the rest in one go, and throws it behind him onto the floor. Then he steps forward, one step, just enough to back Tommy right into the door, not pressing into him, not touching him at all, just standing there in his space, looking down at him, just barely meeting his eyes before shifting his gaze, searching for those fucking marks again.

"It's just," he murmurs, lost in the moment now, in that place where everything's running on instinct and thinking is a thing that just doesn't happen, "just that if that's what you're into...I can do that. Oh baby, pretty little Tommy, let me do that, let me get my mouth on you..."

Tommy's eyes close and his head falls back against the door, and that just makes his neck even more visible. The light catches the sheen of sweat over his skin, and Adam licks his lips, waits, _wants._

Slowly, Tommy's hand slides away, drifting down to hang loose at his side and baring the marks for Adam to see again. He doesn't open his eyes, doesn't speak, but it's all the permission Adam needs.

He closes the last distance between them, presses gently into Tommy, feeling the way their bodies fit against each other. One hand buries itself in Tommy's hair, sweaty and clingy from the heat of the stage, and Adam pulls just enough, loves that he already knows just how much pressure to use to make Tommy weak in the knees. He leans close, breath ghosting over the marks as he speaks, but doesn't quite touch. Not yet.

"Don't tell me who it was, baby. I don't wanna know. Don't _need_ to know who was marking you up. Doesn't matter. Gonna erase it all. Won't even remember last night when I'm done with you."

And still he doesn't move, doesn't make good on the promises that spill off his lips. Finally, finally, Tommy's mouth falls open, and he presses back into Adam's body, and a broken "please" wrenches its way out of him, and Adam's never heard Tommy beg for anything before, but he thinks he likes it. Likes it when Tommy's begging for _him._

His teeth close hard on Tommy's neck, digging into the skin and making Tommy cry out, maybe a little surprised at Adam's... _enthusiasm._ He holds on until he knows there's bruising, imagines he can feel the broken blood vessels, the darkness spreading below the skin. Then he lets go and flattens his tongue over the abused flesh, licking long and hot and slow, and Tommy's making noises again, but they're not sharp anymore, low and dark and needy instead, and oh yeah, Adam could definitely stand to hear a lot more of that. He presses into Tommy's neck again, opens his mouth and _sucks,_ tastes salt and makeup, imagines he can taste the lingering flavor of the other person, the _intruder,_ and pulls it all away. Tommy should taste like himself, with sometimes a layer of Adam on top, and that's all. The thought pulls an honest-to-god _growl_ out of Adam, and his hands work their way up the back of Tommy's shirt, spread over his back. He drags Tommy closer with the points of painted nails, runs them down the arch of his back, smooth, deep, drawing over the leftover lines that had first caught his eye, replacing them with marks of his own making. And oh, Adam _likes_ that thought, likes that there were others once upon a time but now, right now, there's only _him._

He pulls back to look at Tommy's face, and _fuck,_ Tommy is _gone,_ lost in sensation, eyes closed, pretty little mouth open and panting, and he's rutting up against Adam shamelessly, hard and insistent, looking for contact and friction and release. Adam can feel a predatory grin spread over his lips, and he grabs Tommy's hands and raises them over his head, presses them back into the door and holds them there...and then he lets his hips, which have been aching to move themselves, lets them _go._

And fucking _christ,_ it's just fully-clothed dry humping against a door, but fire's shooting through Adam's veins, setting every nerve ending aflame, and shit shit _shit,_ he never should have started this, but it's too late now, too high too hard too much, gotta see it through, and he hasn't come in his pants in years, but oh, there isn't _time_ for anything else, because his face is in Tommy's neck again, and his hands are clamped tight around Tommy's wrists, leaving bracelets of bruises, and Tommy sounds like he's died and gone to atheist heaven, louder than Adam's maybe _ever_ heard him, a chant of "Fuck, fuck, Adam, fuck" constantly streaming from him, the words uneven, breaking apart as Tommy does.

Adam _thrusts_ and _bites_ and _squeezes_ one more time, and that's it, that's him _gone,_ coming all over his costume pants, and that's gonna be a fucking problem in a couple minutes but right now he feels too amazing to care, soaring, out of his head.

Tommy's gone still when Adam comes down enough to notice, and a small experimental thrust of his hips finds Tommy softening in his pants as well. Something in him relaxes at that knowledge, and he smiles to himself. He loves it when that happens, when they're totally on the same wavelength, coming up and coming down together.

Adam lets Tommy's arms go and steps back to look at him, take in the image before it's shattered and gone forever. Tommy looks _ravaged,_ his arms still in the air, like they don't want to move just yet, his hair a ruffled mess, his neck mottled blue and black and red in the shape of Adam's teeth and lips, wet from Adam's tongue. It's gorgeous, so pretty that Adam wants to take a picture, wants to burn it into the inside of his eyelids so he can see it all the time. And yet...

 _"Fuck_...I'm sorry...don't know what came over me," Adam says softly.

Tommy's eyes blink open, and slowly they manage to focus on Adam. "Shit, man, don't apologize! That was..." He trails off, his eyes going hazy again.

"Better than last night?" Adam asks.

Tommy smirks at him and says, "Last night? Was there a last night? I think I forgot..."

And Adam laughs and pulls Tommy away from the door and into his arms, and Tommy laughs too, and for the first time in a long time, things are actually sort of... _perfect._


End file.
